The L Word
by gizmo-gal
Summary: Short Fics and One Shots, all about Vegeta, Bulma and the L-words in their lives.


This and the chapters to follow are more writing exercises than anything else. Something to help quite the "buzz" in my head from themes and thoughts for writing. All the stories included here are to be themed around a single word, each one, obviously, will begin with L.

**Loser**

The word came to him unbidden as he struggled to stay afloat in 280 times Earths gravity. He frowned when the word crossed his mind and cursed himself for his weakness. He'd caught a glimpse of himself in the reflective surface of the video monitor and it was obvious, even to him, that he was in over his head. He was exhausted, he'd been at this for 5 days straight, he couldn't leave the GR for fear of not being able to drag himself back in. Not because of fatigue, he'd been worked harder than this in the past for sure, but because the earth wench might try something despicable like locking the blasted machine the instant he stepped outside its confines. Ever since he'd blown himself up that last time, she'd been nuts.

She'd gone away for a weekend with her stupid scar faced lover and when she returned her bimbo mother had informed her that he'd been in the GR the whole time. She'd shown up on the video screen within a few minutes, yelling and shrieking like a banshee from hell. He would know, he'd been there. He'd told her to buzz off or drop dead, he didn't care which. She'd told him she wouldn't let him work himself to death.

"Dont be a lughead!" her words still echoed in his ears even a day and a half after their latest argument. "Where is the sense in training yourself to death! I thought the whole point was to cut the androids off at the pass when they try and kill you, not do their work for them!"

Vegeta had ignored her at first, he was too exhausted to play games with her and he couldn't afford to slacken his concentration. It'd be just his luck that he'd fall on his ass with the woman watching-not that he cared. He didn't.

After several minutes of her ranting and yelling at him, Vegeta had snapped and screamed at her. It wasn't until he was done cursing her, the day she was born, the spot she emerged into the world in and her dumber-than-mold mother that he realized he'd relapsed into one of the alien tongues he was more comfortable communicating in. Naturally, she'd been curious and pestered him about his language.

"Wow, is that like a common Alien language or the traditional Saiyan speech? I never thought about it before but I guess you would speak another language...I mean, the litter ear-scouters you Saiyans wore when you got here were in that weird Alien language...so how did you learn to speak our language?"

He'd told her, in plain English, to drop dead.

"You could just answer the question," Bulma informed him, "instead of always acting like a jacka-"

"Preferably now, not later." he'd added which caused her to sputtered indignantly.

He smirked and began to turn his back.

She shrieked then, of course. "What a maniac, fine then! Dont come crying to me when you-"

"Woman, I'll slit my throat and drink my own blood before I turn crying to you for anything!" Vegeta snarled at her.

"Ugh! Loser!" and with that, she'd gone. Just like that.

Now when he caught a glimpse of himself, covered in sweat and patches of raw skin and dried blood, his cheeks were a little swollen from the battering he'd taken. His wrists and fists were bruised-no mean feat considering he was a durable full blood Saiyan-and his ears felt heavier than anything else. There were remnants of bandages from a previous hospital visit trailing off of his figure. He was sore, he was hungry, he was tired, he was restless and anxious and angry and...hot damn, he was a loser, wasn't he?

Vegeta floated down to stand on the floor, his body was to stif and heavy to even wobble properly. He wondered what he'd gotten himself into, how and why the God and master of the universe so enjoyed his suffering that his soul had ever been allowed to slip from the realm of the dead back into the realm of the living...He was boneweary but felt like he'd made no progress, if anything, he had regressed since the beginning of the month!

He clenched his jaw and fists as he fought back the urge to release a whirlwind of pure ki that would rip apart the GR, the Capsule Corp compound, the entire West City and every living creature this side of the ocean...

But he wouldn't. That was quitting, that was throwing the mathc. That would be admitting that he couldn't accomplish the same feats that Kakarott and that Future Boy had and on his royal Saiyan honor he hadn't come this far in life to toss aside his pride in a fit of despair or rage.

He wasn't a quitter.

He wasn't a loser either! He wasn't. He couldn't be a loser because he refused to let _them_ win. He'd be damned and in hell (again) before he let some low life show him up at anything, least of all status as a fighter!

When he finally went back to hell and the realm of the dead, it would be with his head held high like a true warrior prince. It would be in triumph, because he wouldn't give Freiza the satisfaction of seeing him so down as he was now. He took several steadying breaths and made his way to the controll panel and reduced the gravity to just 10. He breathed a sign of easy relief as the pressure seemed to evaporate and he sunk to the floor in exhaustion. He was asleep within minutes.


End file.
